


out of ashes

by fallingthorns



Series: nature of the spine [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Can be read alone or as part of the series!, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, M/M, Physical Disability, Post-Canon, eddie takes up embroidery, it soothes him, psychosocial aspects of recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/pseuds/fallingthorns
Summary: Bev has sketched the outline of a flame on the cloth and, underneath it, the words “FUCK YOU” are written in a large, blocked font. Eddie thinks that Bev probably knows him a little too well, because this is actually perfect."Reminds me of you," Richie laughs. "Small and fiery."--1.5 years post-clown and Eddie is coping with his new normal with his wheelchair and with Richie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: nature of the spine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770034
Comments: 19
Kudos: 150





	out of ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Hello! I have returned with a SHORT fic. Shocking, I know. 
> 
> If you are joining us for the first time, welcome! What you need to know is that Eddie survived the clown stabbing but has a complete spinal cord injury. His legs do not work and he uses a wheelchair for mobility.
> 
> Eddie and Richie have been together ~6 months in this fic because I am completely incapable of writing things in chronological order. As it's only fairly soon after the injury, Eddie is dealing with it all a little more heavily than we have seen in the past.
> 
> Inspired by a [tweet](https://twitter.com/edskasper/status/1275953702617198594) I made back in June. 
> 
> Content warnings: minor talk of anxiety/depression, stress related to having a physical disability, Eddie saying "I'm fine" over and over.

MAY 2018

Eddie is fine. He’s so fine that he doesn't even know why he needs to explain that he’s fine. He’s fine! Everybody keeps asking him, and really, he’s fine. How many times a day does he have to answer the questions “Are you okay?” and “How are you doing?” and “Let me know if you need anything!”

It’s been a year and a half since the clown and since he woke up in the hospital and found out that his whole life was changed. He’s fine. Everyone else should know that he’s fine by now, too. He’s been with Richie for six months now, so really, why wouldn’t he be fine? He’s great. He loves Richie and Richie loves him, and they _live_ together and are in love.

The fact remains that Eddie now spends his life in a wheelchair, and everybody seems to just want to talk about it constantly. Eddie thinks that, at least for right now, silence is better. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and sets it so that Richie can still get through. He sets it face down on the coffee table and unlocks the brakes of his wheelchair to head into the kitchen.

Richie returned to working full time a few weeks ago, after his manager had started pestering him about getting back into the swing of things. Richie was reluctant, but Eddie told him he was fine. Eddie can manage himself during the day, and he knows that Richie is only a phone call away.

So, Eddie might be fine, really, he’s _fine,_ but Eddie is fucking _bored._ He didn’t realize how easy it was to pass the hours of the day when Richie was home, babbling and arguing and kissing him until another day had passed. But now that Richie’s back to work, Eddie has fully realized how slow time moves when he’s not in Richie’s presence.

He needs a fucking hobby. Something to distract himself before he goes crazy being alone in the house every day and alone with his thoughts. His only outings are when he has doctor’s appointments or physical therapy, so he really just needs something to do and to occupy his brain so he doesn't think too hard or for too long about the current situation. It’s not like he can drive himself anywhere, and he is definitely not ready to just leave the house on his own, anyway.

Eddie wheels himself back over to his phone and picks it up to text Bev. She’ll know what to do.

* * *

Two days later, Eddie receives a package in the mail.

Bev promised to send him something but refused to tell him what it was, wanting to keep it a surprise. Eddie trusts her and really hopes it’s something that will both occupy his time and maybe allow him to get out some of his frustrations. Maybe like rock sculpting, with a hammer. Or knife throwing.

Eddie picks the box up off the ground and blinks at it, frowning a little before rolling back into the house. It’s smaller than he anticipated, and there is definitely not a rock big enough for him to sculpt in there, and it’s too light to be a knife throwing kit. Eddie hopes this wasn’t a bad idea, because whatever it is, he is going to _have_ to at least try it since Bev went out of her way to buy it and send it.

Eddie grabs scissors from the kitchen drawer and cuts the tape on the box. He moves the packing peanuts away and pauses, blinking at the contents of the box.

The first thing he notices is the thread. There are several different colors of thread neatly folded on the top of the box’s contents, and Eddie picks them up and stares at them. What the fuck is he going to do with thread?

Underneath the thread are three round, wooden hoops, and underneath the hoops are three square pieces of a thin, white cloth and, finally, there is a small box filled with sewing needles and a folded-up note from Bev.

_Eddie,_

_I know you are probably thinking I’m a lunatic right now, but just hear me out. This is an embroidery kit I put together for you, because I think you’ll actually like it. You can follow instructions exactly or you can get creative if you need to. You can literally do it however you want, but it’s a good way to get your mind off of things and pass the time. You might like it. If you don’t, no worries. Just don’t stab Richie with the needles._

_Look at the third piece of cloth. I outlined a pattern for you that you might like, if you want to use it :) Call me if you want to try and I’ll give you instructions and can send you videos for how to do the stitches._

_Love always,_

_Bev_

Eddie reads the note three times before setting it aside with a sigh. So apparently, he is an embroiderer now. He grabs the three pieces of cloth and pulls the last one out from behind the other two, and he lets out a surprised laugh when he sees it.

Bev has sketched the outline of a flame on the cloth and, underneath it, the words “FUCK YOU” are written in a large, blocked font. Eddie thinks that Bev probably knows him a little too well, because this is actually perfect.

Eddie sets all the contents back in the box and rolls himself over to the couch. He quickly transfers onto it and takes all of the contents out of the box, carefully setting them up on the coffee table as he grabs his phone to call Bev. He is now determined.

Bev ends up calling him through FaceTime so that she can show him the stitches in real-time, and Eddie follows along and is surprisingly quick at picking up how to do each of the separate stitches. He can feel his tongue poking out of his mouth as he works, focusing hard on the needle and the fabric so that he doesn’t end up stabbing himself. When Bev is satisfied that he has enough knowledge to work on his own, they say goodbye and hang up, and Eddie keeps working without even glancing at the time.

He makes the flame with a combination of yellows, reds, and oranges. It’s quite artistic, he thinks, and it captures the essence of the entire pattern and his mood quite well. The only thing that could make it better is if it said, “FUCK YOU. I'M FINE.” But he thinks that might be taking things maybe a bit too far.

Eddie works throughout the rest of the day. He pauses at one point to have lunch and to chat with Richie on the phone, and then he is right back at it. He is determined to finish this by the end of the day. He wants to show that he can at least still accomplish _something._

The next time Eddie checks the time, it’s 5:30 PM, which means Richie should be home any second now. He looks around at the couch and blinks at all of the embroidery thread strewn all over the place. He has a washcloth next to him with small spots of blood on it from when he, unfortunately, stabbed himself with the needle one too many times, and there is an empty glass of water, an empty coffee mug, a full mug of tea, and a half-eaten plate of carrots and pretzels scattered across the coffee table. He thinks that he should maybe straighten up a bit so he doesn't look quite so unhinged when Richie comes home, but right as he goes to transfer back into his wheelchair, the front door opens and Eddie hears Richie walk in.

“Eds!” Richie shouts, and Eddie can imagine him toeing his shoes off and setting his bag down next to the door.

“In the living room, Rich,” Eddie says, deflated and accepting the fact that Richie is finally going to see him for what he truly is – a deranged man who spent all day embroidering a flame with an expletive underneath it.

Eddie watches and sighs as Richie rounds the corner, pausing to blink at Eddie and the mess surrounding him.

“Uh,” Richie starts before abruptly closing his mouth and frowning at Eddie. He comes over and makes to sit next to Eddie on the couch, but he pauses and looks at the thread surrounding Eddie on either side. “You good, Eds?”

Eddie groans and moves the thread to the left of him, making room for Richie to sit next to him. “For fuck’s sake,” Eddie snaps with a huff, setting the thread down on the other side of him. “Why does everyone just keep fucking asking me that?”

Richie blinks at him, his hand hovering over Eddie’s thigh, like he’s contemplating whether or not Eddie would be receptive to Richie’s touch right now. Eddie stares down at it and sighs, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath to calm himself. He thinks about what they talked about at their last joint therapy session, about how Eddie needs to express himself better and how Richie needs to give Eddie time to gather his thoughts.

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs after a moment, setting his hand on top of Richie’s that is still hovering in the air, setting it on top of Eddie’s thigh with Eddie’s lying over it. “It’s just been – a time?”

Richie’s hand starts rubbing up and down Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie feels himself sag into Richie’s chest, a week’s worth of anxiety and frustration finally being released from his body and brain.

“Hang on, come here,” Richie says softly, and then he’s shifting on the couch next to Eddie, wrapping both of his arms around him and tugging him onto his lap. Eddie slumps into Richie’s chest, his nose pressed to the crook of Richie’s neck, and he weakly grasps at Richie’s shirt and holds it, as if that will keep Richie this close to him forever. He inhales the scent of Richie, slightly sweaty from a long day of working but still smelling very much like Richie.

“Bev sent me an embroidery kit,” Eddie mumbles into Richie’s shoulder.

“I can really clearly see that,” Richie laughs. “Your little flame looks good though. Reminds me of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Small and fiery. And ‘fuck’ is your favorite word.”

“No it’s fucking not,” Eddie grumbles, burying his face in Richie’s chest. “Shut up.”

Richie laughs, and Eddie feels a soft kiss pressed to the top of his head. He sighs against Richie’s shoulder again, and he feels Richie’s arms tighten around him. He knows he needs to talk to Richie. It’s _Richie_ , his partner, his boyfriend, however silly that feels to say at the age of 41. Richie, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, who he wants to share everything with. They’re still figuring this out, still learning the ins-and-outs of one another, learning everything that they missed in their decades spent apart. But Eddie knows for a fact that they are both not the greatest at communication and vulnerability, and he knows that they both want this to work forever. So Eddie needs to talk.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” Eddie says quietly, his thumb stroking up and down on Richie’s chest. “I just. Rich. I am so fucking tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me.”

Richie makes a noise that Eddie can’t place, somewhere between an understanding hum and a whine and a small noise of concern.

Eddie goes on. “It’s been a year and a half. I’ve been out of the hospital for a year and it’s just like . . . I don’t know. Like everyone still only sees me like _that_.”

Richie slides one of his hands to rest on Eddie’s thigh, keeping Eddie close to his chest. “Can I say something?” He asks, quiet, his voice low and a little rough, almost like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking.

“Always,” Eddie replies.

“Everyone just wants to help,” Richie says softly. “We – Eds. You were the only one of us who almost fucking died. And you – your life, our lives . . . I mean, you got fucked up down there, man.” Richie pauses to take a deep breath, and Eddie can tell this is hard for him to say. Eddie knows Richie hates thinking about it, hates thinking about how they almost left Eddie down there, how Eddie almost died on the way to the hospital, how Eddie needed emergency surgery and was in a medically-induced coma for a week. Eddie remembers very little from that time, but he knows that it was probably one of the worst times of Richie’s life.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie whispers, and now his voice cracks. He takes one of his hands to quickly swipe at his eyes under his glasses as a few tears begin to fall. “Seeing you like that, it just. We never want to see you like that again. We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Eddie replies instantly, his voice soft. “Rich. I love you. I’m happy with you.”

“I know, babe,” Richie murmurs. “I know, that’s not what I meant. But your life. Eds. Everything changed for you, and you are still coping and dealing with it, and we don’t expect you to be happy all the time. I think I would probably be fucking concerned if you were, actually. Your whole life is different now because of us.”

“Not because of you,” Eddie whispers. “No, fuck no, none of you did this to me. Blame this on the fucking space clown.”

Richie hums, and Eddie leans up to press a soft kiss to Richie’s jaw. Just because he can.

“I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” Richie says after a few more seconds. “I think you just. Maybe need to tell them to lay off a little bit, but then you need to promise us you’ll ask if you need something. Because you are so fucking independent Eddie, it’s fucking amazing what you can do, but. I know you. We know you. And we just need to know that you’ll ask for help if you need it. We fucking need you to be okay. I need you to be okay.”

Eddie is about to open his mouth to reply quickly, ready to defend himself, because _of course_ he asks for help, but then he pauses. Thinks. He closes his mouth and frowns into Richie’s chest a little, and he realizes that Richie is right. Since being released from the hospital, Eddie has been determined to do everything he possibly can on his own, and both his doctors and his physical therapist are constantly amazed at what he can do and how quickly he has been physically able to adapt to his situation. But, Eddie realizes, he is not the best at asking for things that he needs. He’ll usually avoid things that he can’t do on his own, and he and Richie have lived together for long enough now that Richie just subconsciously knows what Eddie needs and when he needs help without Eddie having to say anything.

Eddie nods against Richie’s chest. “I can do that,” he whispers. “And – you don’t have to stop checking up on me when you’re gone.”

“Eds, I can stop, it’s not a big deal –”

“No, I don’t mind it when it’s you,” Eddie murmurs. “I like it. It makes me feel loved. And I like knowing that it probably makes you feel better about being away from me.”

Eddie glances up at Richie, and Richie is now smiling softly down at him. “It does make me feel better,” he admits after a moment. “And I do love you.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “I love you, too.”

Richie presses his mouth against Eddie’s, soft and gentle, and his hand cups Eddie’s cheek, holding him close.

“I really am okay, Rich,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth, their lips brushing with every word. “I’m not – I’m not _great_ , obviously. I have so many fucking doctor’s appointments and physical therapy appointments and phone calls with my therapist, and I can’t fucking walk, but. I am okay. I’m trying my best. And I think it’ll get better, it’s just, like you said. It hasn’t actually been that long.”

Richie nods and kisses him again. “I know,” Richie replies hoarsely. “And I am so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

“I love you,” Eddie says again, his voice louder than it has been the whole conversation. He just needs Richie to know, needs him to _understand_ that even if he is just okay right now, even if he is not great, he still fucking loves Richie with every fiber of his being.

“Richie. Look at me. I. Love. You.”

Richie looks at him, and Eddie crushes their mouths together in another kiss. He is going to show this man that he loves him if it fucking kills him.

As Richie kisses him back, Eddie thinks that ‘fuck’ might actually be his favorite word after all.

Eddie’s hoop with the flame and the “FUCK YOU” in block letters ends up framed and right next to their front door. Eddie’s second hoop says “I. FUCKING. LOVE. YOU.” surrounded by a wreath of hearts and tiny flames. Eddie hands it to Richie with a cheeky grin, and Richie laughs and kisses him as he looks at it.

“Marry me soon and there’s more in your future,” Eddie says with a grin, and he is mostly joking. He’s in no rush.

“Sooner than you think, Spaghetti Man,” Richie replies absently as he laughs at the hoop, and Eddie blinks at him. Richie seems to realize what he said and quickly tries to backtrack. “I mean, objectively, it’s bound to happen, right? Maybe not soon soon, but, you know, sooner rather than later, I don’t want to be 80 and only just getting married –”

“Richard.” Eddie says while squinting at him. “What did you mean?”

“Nothing!” Richie shouts, jumping back up into a standing position and grabbing the embroidery hoop. “Absolutely nothing, just, you know how I am, we can’t trust any words that come out of this Trashmouth –”

Eddie groans, realizing that Richie is not going to budge and he is just going to have to accept the fact that he will get no further information from him regarding this topic. “Fine,” he sighs, interrupting Richie as he continued his monologue. “I’ll forget about it, but just know that I’m now going to be mad if it doesn't happen soon.”

Richie pauses and blinks at him, and Eddie gives him a cheeky grin.

“Yeah?” Richie says after a few seconds.

“Yeah.” Eddie deadpans. “I’m fucking good husband material now. I embroider and shit. What more do you want? I am probably a hot fucking commodity with all of the singles.”

Richie laughs and kisses him again, and Eddie accepts that he really is not going to get any more hints or details from Richie. At least not right now.

The second hoop ends up framed on Richie’s nightstand, so that every night, Richie both reads and hears the words, “I. FUCKING. LOVE. YOU.” from Eddie.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading and joining me in this character exploration! Comment if you wish, I love reading everyone's thoughts :)
> 
> You can find me [@edskasper](https://twitter.com/edskasper) on twitter if you want to come chat!


End file.
